Unforgiveable Sinner
by Bellatrix Black
Summary: It's been three years since the trio graduated from Hogwarts and Hermione is now an Auror in-training, assigned to interview captured Death Eaters -- Draco is her designated subject. (D-Hr, slight H-Hr) Ch.4 up!
1. Chapter One: A Reunion Of Sorts

Disclaimer: I do not, nor do I claim to own Harry Potter in any way, shape or form. He belongs to JK Rowling, Warner Bros. and many other franchises. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The title is from a song I once heard; though I forget the artist.

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Chapter One: A Reunion Of Sorts

"Are you listening, Miss Granger?"

Hermione blinked, her mind travelling back to her body as she glanced over at the man in front of her. Mad-Eye Moody pursed his lips, his face contorted into an unreadable expression as her observed the young woman standing before him.

"Of course Sir," she murmured. 

Moody gave her one last suspicious look, before turning back to Tonks who was admiring the ocean surrounding the large island they had apparated to. They were at Azkaban. Even the name sounded chilling. Hermione couldn't help but muse why she was here, which was a very unfortunate reason. After all, she could have been anywhere at this moment, but her choice of career had been the challenging type. 

She had graduated Hogwarts three years ago; deciding that her exam scores could be put to the best use possible whilst the war raged: she had decided to become an Auror. Harry however, once becoming of age had joined the Order, dedicating all his time and energy into the only possible resource he deemed capable of bringing down Voldemort. 

And Ron… well, Ron was Ron. He had decided to not let Voldemort's ever-present shadow bring down his ambitious nature and had applied for a position on the Chudley Cannons. To his greatest luck (and a little help from Harry), he had scored the position of Keeper and had recently helped his team secure the World Cup.

Hermione and Harry had married straight out of Hogwarts and even though at times he seemed to be completely distracted by the Order and the war, they did have a very comfortable life together. So why was she at Azkaban? Simple. With the war waging, many deatheaters had been captured already. But with Voldemort still looming, they couldn't risk him reclaiming his lost men. They couldn't have them all put to death either, not when many of them were sure to hold the secrets to Voldemort's plans.

So now, she along with five other Aurors in training had come with their commanders, Tonks and Moody, to try to squeeze the last bit of knowledge from the prisoners. As she wandered into the large stone building, the outside that resembled a long corroded castle, Hermione couldn't help but shudder. 

The dementors had fled Azkaban at the end of fifth year, choosing to serve Voldemort in his wicked plans, so now the wizarding prison was guarded by Aurors; who were permitted to use the forbidden curses if need be, and many other deadly charms and precautions had been installed. 

But still, even after five years, the dementor's presence had made an impression on the island. The grey atmosphere, the stench of death which mixed with the sea breeze and the sullen expressions that each of her comrades held only added to the effect.

"Now remember," Moody's gruff voice bellowed around them all as he led them into a large grey corridor, "your subjects will probably be hostile. I don't have instructions about which punishments each have been given, but your job isn't to control them. That's their job."

And the old, scruffy man pointed to Aurors, who were standing diligently by the hallway of doors. 

"Your job is to interview them. Find out whatever you can about them, whatever makes them tick. How they came into league with the Dark Lord, why they committed the crimes they're being incarcerated for and whatever else they have to offer us."

The group of Aurors nodded slowly; one even went as far as to begin etching down his instructions. 

"And above all things people, CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he boomed, making each of them jump slightly. After all these years, Hermione still hadn't gotten used to his little fits of paranoia. 

"These people are dangerous criminals and even though they don't have their wands, they're not all stupid oafs. If you find yourself in trouble, call for a guard or for myself."

With that said and with each of the young Aurors feeling the slightest feeling of unease; Moody seemed to feel he had done his job and issued towards Tonks, who handed them each a small white envelope.

"Your subjects have been chosen by myself and Mr. Moody, so there'll be no switching. If at anytime you feel you won't be able to handle the deatheater you've been assigned, then please come to one of us and we'll see what we can work out," she said a plainly, forcing a small smile. She was obviously trying to keep them cheery, though it didn't look like she would succeed anytime soon. 

As the other students around her tore open their envelopes, Hermione hesitated. Perhaps it was a bad idea to volunteer for this mission. Perhaps she should have signed herself up in guarding Hogwarts, rather than coming to such a bleak and lifeless place. But it was too late to back out now, especially when she had no real cause to. She fumbled with the envelope, before pulling out a small piece of white card with four words scrolled across it in black ink. 

**__**

Draco Malfoy – Room 98

Hermione breathed in deeply, almost dropping the card. No one else seemed surprised by who they had gotten and she wondered, by what cruel twist of fate had Moody and Tonks decided that she was best off interviewing him: the one boy who she was known to have hated so ruthlessly. The one boy who had caused so much pain and anguish to her friends and to the Weasley's. 

Moody was watching her with his magical eye, not surprised by the look of horror, which captured her petite and pale face. She found herself wanting to rush over and question him. Why was he so morbidly stupid as to allow her into a locked cell, with a wand, to question Malfoy?

But Moody turned away from her, suddenly discussing something in hushed voices with Tonks. Hermione shook her head and swallowed the large lump that had formed in the base of her throat. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. Perhaps being the key word.

Two of the other Aurors had already gone towards their respective interview rooms, so Hermione braced herself and headed down the long corridor in search of Room 98. She paused outside the door, composing herself. One of the guards gave her a grim smile, which she returned before she stepped inside. 

She was in a large white room. In front of her was a large, metal desk with two aluminium chairs facing opposite of each other and sitting in one of them, with an eyebrow raised in a rather curious expression on his face, was Draco. 

He was wearing long; lanky grey robes, which, although covered in soot and dirt, were quite clean, compared to those she had seen Sirius wearing the night they had met in the Shrieking Shack. His silver-blonde hair was matted and fell messily down around his grey eyes. His pale face was gaunt, sallow and unchanging as he watched her walk silently across the room and sit down.

Draco's eyes ran up the length of her body, making her uncomfortable for a moment before she cleared her throat. 

"So," he began, "what on earth are you doing paying me a visit?"

"I'm here to interview you, it's Ministry business," she muttered.

"Let me guess, that paranoid fool Moody thinks half us deatheaters are going to lose our minds and attempt escapes?" he asked, picking at the hem of his robes.

"Something like that." 

Hermione reached into her handbag and retrieved a notebook. She opened it up in front of her, pulled out a quill, an ink pot and checked her watch. Scribbling across the top of her page, she wrote:

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Subject: Draco Malfoy 

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Time: 2:42pm

After doing so, she gripped the quill firmly in her hand and turned back up to look at the young man sitting before her. His curious expression had not disappeared and he merely raised his chin, smirking at her. 

"Mr. Malfoy-"

"It's Draco," he cut in, indifferent to the look of annoyance on her face. She muttered something incoherent under her breath, but nodded.

"Fine, Draco. How long have you been held in Azkaban?"

"One year, several months and sixteen days," he muttered."Though I can count the hours, minutes and seconds for you if you wish."

She had to use all her self-control to refrain from scowling. Well, he had certainly not changed since the last time she had seen him. And here she was, hoping against hope that Azkaban had done something to his brain, to lower him beyond the cynical brat. Ah well, she scribbled this down anyway.

"And why is it that you were detained to the custody of Azkaban?"

Draco sighed. "Because Fudge and Dumbledore had no idea where to put me."

"Please state for the record, the exact reason you are being held here," Hermione said stiffly, feeling a small bubble of hatred begin to boil in her stomach. Was this another one of his games? Was this his idea of a joke? 

"Apparently," he began, his cold grey eyes wandering the room slowly before resting on her brown pair, "I am believed to have killed, tortured and maimed a witch and five muggles while in the service of The Dark Lord."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, but scribbled this across the page as well. She bit her lip, but said nothing to the cause. She was not here for any other reason than to interview him. Soon enough, Moody would come and summon her back and she would have time to let all the grief wash over her. 

"Did you commit these crimes?" she questioned plainly. Her grip on her Quill was so tight, she was sure it would snap soon.

"Would you prefer that I admit to them? That I claim responsibility, so that you can leave this room and feel your duty is done?"

Hermione shook her head; her quill was now pressing down hard onto her notebook, leaving behind a large inkblot. 

"I want the truth, that is all Draco. Did you commit these crimes?"

"You know what?" he muttered, leaning back in metal chair. "I think I'll leave you to decide that."

He smirked as she scribbled something else across her page. Hermione gritted her teeth, but held back her words. 

'_Don't stoop to his level, don't become the obnoxious brat that he was -- is_.'

But he was no longer a brat now, no… of course he wasn't. He was a fully-grown man, capable of rational thinking, rational feeling and rational understanding. And here he sat, in what used to be one of the most feared places in the entire wizarding world, and he didn't seem to have a care in the world.

"Were you in league with the Dark Lord?" Hermione questioned. 

And then Draco once again leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and placing his chin on top of his fingers. He noticed the nervous glint in her eye, hidden behind all that fury he just knew she wished to unleash upon him. So, she was afraid of him. He could live with that. He had always enjoyed the satisfaction he acquired when he had hurt her, and just he knew that her wounds would be forever raw. 

"Don't ask questions you already know the answers to, Hermione."

She stiffened as he breathed her name, suddenly remembering when she had first heard it drip from his lips. But she otherwise remained composed. She was letting him get to her. She had to put a halt to it.

"Answer the question."

"Make me," he hissed just above a whisper, causing her to shiver. 

Hermione reached into a pocket of her robes and clutched her wand tightly. The room suddenly seemed to dim slightly, though it was probably her imagination. He glowered at her, almost challengingly, waiting to see whether she took the bait. But Hermione Granger had always been the smart one – extremely gullible, yes. But smart nonetheless. 

"I've had enough of your games, Draco. We can either do this the easy way, or the very easy way," she said sternly. 

But he could see right through her, she knew that he could. He wasn't some gullible sap who would give in just to appease her. But what harm could come from humouring her?

Draco smirked. "Yes, I was in the service of the Dark Lord."

"Thank-you," she said sweetly, as if she were speaking to a child before turning back to her notebook. 

He grunted in a very un-Malfoy like manner, but said nothing, waiting for the questioning to continue. Hermione paused, looking up and down at the page in front of her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see from her watch that she hadn't been questioning him for quite as long as she had initially thought. 

"Were your parents in league with Lord Voldemort?"

"I think the world knows it by now. Yes, my mother and father were servants of the Dark Lord."

"And where are they now, Draco?"

He cocked his head to its side, observing her ever-growing courage, which seemed to spurt at the most inappropriate moments. Ah, the born Gryffindor. It was no wonder really. He couldn't help but ponder whether she had requested to interview him just so she could ask these questions, but her shakey demeanor had obvious written away that possibility.

"My father still actively supports Voldemort. The last I knew of him, he had reached the Ministry of Magic's top ten list of malicious and cruel bastards."

"And your mother, what do you know of her?"

"Apparently, she is dead," said Draco, tonelessly. 

Hermione furrowed her brow and once again bit her lip. 

"How can you just talk about her passing as if it were nothing?"

He merely smirked and began fighting a losing battle against the creases on his dingy robes. His cold gray eyes refused to meet hers and she could sense that she had hit a nerve.

"My mother has nothing to do with my incarceration," he pointed out lamely. "Therefore, I'd appreciate it if you'd get on with it."

Hermione hesitated, but nodded, turning back to her notebook and scribbling down something he couldn't read. He was observing her closely now, watching every little action she made, relishing in the little signs that showed she was not completely sure of why she was here with him of all people. 

And then she faced him once more, a determined look and her stern demeanor not fading. She raised her chin defiantly, still rather uncomfortable under his scrutinizing gaze and pursed her lips.

"Why," she began, "did you choose to join the service of the Dark Lord?"

And then Draco scowled. He made to stand up, but the nonchalant look in her eyes forced him back to his seat. He glared at her, a digusted look on his face, all in the while secretly suprising Hermione. She had no idea _at all_ that he would be so taken aback by this mere question. 

"Don't ask me why, you already know why!"

She shook her head, giving him a dark look. "No, I bloody well don't!"

"Don't lie Hermione, especially to me! Why do you think I became a deatheater? Why do you think all this happened?"

"You can't possibly blame me fo-"

"I'll do as I please!" he bellowed loudly. 

Draco stood up quickly and Hermione's grip on her wand tightened. To her relief though, he merely went to the door and began pounding on it, hollering for the guard. He gave her one last look of disgust, before an Auror appeared and the silver-haired man was held at wand point, while Hermione left the interview room.

She could hear the disgruntled grunts the guard gave off as he shackled Draco and led him back to his cell, which Hermione was certain, would not be as accommodating as the interview room. She swallowed the large lump in her throat and ran her hands through her thick brown hair, taking a breath of much cleaner and fresher air than the room had held. 

Hurrying down the corridor, she came across Moody and Tonks speaking anxiously with Terry Boot, who seemed to be in tears. She brushed past them and headed for the exit, wanting to be free of the dark and dreary place, but she could hear soft footsteps following her. Ducking out the door of the old dilapidated castle, she prepared herself to apparate before she felt a hand on her shoulder. 

"Hermione, what are you doing out so soon?" 

It was Tonks. Turning around, she could see the concerned face on her instructor, wondering whether she should actually allow herself to feel, to let it all come out and see whether she would still be human in the end. But she wouldn't allow herself to fall; no she was supposed to be the smart, strong and able one. The one who doesn't crack and who doesn't give in to any weakness of any kind.

"Malfoy decided to end the interview," she muttered, straight to the point. 

"I see…" Tonks murmured. "Are you OK?"

Hermione forced a small smile. "Of course I am, why wouldn't I be?" 

"You seem a bit… shaken." 

"I'm fine," Hermione lied. "I just really want to get home and rest. It's been a rather long afternoon."

Tonks nodded, her trademark grin appearing as she gave Hermione's hand a small squeeze. 

"You do realize that regardless of today's events, you'll still be required to interview Malfoy again?" 

The younger woman felt a sudden pang of dread flow into her system, but she didn't let it show. She had hoped that perhaps it would only be one deatheater per a day, before moving onto the next. Obviously she was wrong. She pondered asking for a different subject, but realized that Moody would not allow it unless he had some sufficient reason. 

"Well, when the time comes, it comes." 

With that said, the two ladies bid each other good-bye and Hermione apparated to the flat she and Harry shared. Well, shared was to put it nicely. Harry spent most of his time at Grimmauld Place these days, always trying to have the upper hand over Voldemort. She shivered as she even thought of that name. She was a grown woman and here she, feared an entity she had yet to encounter face to face. 

But Draco didn't fear him. No, Draco had never feared him. Suddenly feeling the urge for some very strong liquor, she made her way over to the small bar in the corner and poured herself some brandy. 

Why on earth had she been paired up with him? Why on earth did she allow it to get this far? Why didn't she just run before she had even seen him again? She took a sip of brandy, the intoxicating drink enticing her taste buds. But she placed the glass back down onto the bar and headed for the kitchen to find something to eat.

She couldn't break. She still had to see him again; she still had to help him. Or try to at least. The assignment had been given three months. How, was she ever going to put up with him for three months?

****

~ENDCHAPTER1~

Authors Note: 

The line 'We can do this the easy way, or the very easy way' is a quote from the movie Reign of Fire.

So, is it any good? Should I continue this or leave it to burn into a pile of smoldering ashes? All constructive criticism is welcome, so please review and let me know what you thought of it. It's my first serious D/Hr fic. Dark Souls (one of my other fics) contains some D/Hr, but it's not centered entirely on the couple, so I thought I'd write a D/Hr romance with a twist.

The plot was given to me over a year ago, at the plot bunnies section of fictionalley.org, but I never got around to using it until now. Well, something along the plot. Either way, I'd love to see what people think so since you did the courtesy of reading, perhaps you'll do me the courtesy of reviewing? 


	2. Chapter Two: Long Forgotten

  
And without further ado, I bring you chapter two. Read and review people. __

Chapter Two: Long Forgotten

"I see you just couldn't help but come back," drawled Draco, as he perched himself lazily in one of the aluminum chairs. The sunlight sprawling into the room from the large barred window bared the trademark signs of dawn, which had just broken.

Hermione had awoken early that morning, deciding that she wouldn't wait around for the inevitable. Harry hadn't come to bed that night and in her final bout of frustration, she had decided to work over Draco's case file. There were most of the facts she already knew about the captive. His years at Hogwarts, his parents and their roles in his life, the crimes that he had been admitted to Azkaban for…

And then, as dawn had broken, she had taken advantage of the fact she could interview her prisoner at any time she wished and checked into Azkaban. She felt more confident this time, more prepared: after all, she knew what he was capable of and after their previous meeting, she knew just what he had in store for her. 

"I have a job to do and I intend to complete it," she muttered, sitting herself down and taking out her quill, ink pot and notebook. Draco reached over and placed a hand on the crisp white paper, causing Hermione took look up at him in surprise. 

"If you want a proper interview, I believe it may work better when you don't write down every word I say," he said lightly. 

She wasn't quite sure how to react. Should she play along with him? Or show that she was the one in charge? The small glimmer in his eyes spoke for him and she promptly closed the notebook and slid it into her bag.

"Fine, let's begi-"

"That's a rather nice ring you have," he drawled, glancing towards her left hand. Hermione ran her thumb over the golden band, which was encrusted with a large ruby, surrounded by small pint-sized diamonds. "It's definitely something out of Weasley's price range, so I'm guessing Potter ended up walking down the aisle?"

Hermione drew her hand back and placed in on her lap, thumbing the ring absentmindedly. "Yes, it's from Harry. But we're not here to discuss him, we're here to discuss you."

Draco smirked. "And here I was thinking you didn't fancy the tall dark Slytherin in his angsty little corner?"

"You're hardly tall and dark. You're more of the tall and pasty kind, perhaps even rodent-like at times."

"Temper, temper Hermione," he murmured teasingly. "The way I see it, we can either sit here and shoot nasty little comments back and forth for however long it takes for you to complete these interviews, or we can have a little chat. Just you, our dark little room and I. Don't you want to reminisce?" 

"There's nothing to reminisce about," she shot darkly, but Draco sneered. 

"Oh, but there is," his voice rasped softly. "Come on Hermione, I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

It took every cell in Hermione's body to stop her from shooting up and leaving that room at once. She could hear her head screaming at her that this was dangerous and that Draco probably had some ulterior motive for allowing this interview to run smoothly so far. But she had to stay; she couldn't help but stay plastered in that seat. There were too many unanswered questions and she was just dying for answers. 

"Fine," she croaked. "What do you want to know?"

And with a satisfied smirk, Draco folded his arms and rested them upon the table in front of him. His silver-blonde hair fell in front of his eyes as he observed her even more closely. But there was no warmth there. There was nothing there, no spark and no malice. There was just nothing. 

"What have you, Weasley and Wonderboy been doing since Hogwarts?" he asked lazily. Surprise once again lit up Hermione's eyes, but she didn't say anything to imply it. 

"Harry's fighting the war, Ron's off playing Quidditch, he and Luna are engaged and I… well, I joined the Ministry."

"Even Sybil Trewalney could have predicted that," he muttered and Hermione held back a scowl. 

"Fine, you've had a question, now it's my turn." 

He made a sweeping gesture with his hands. "By all means, fire away."

She pondered over the first question she could ask him, the ones from the previous day barraging her as she wished so desperately to ask them. But how could she now? Not when she had a shot at gaining his trust and forming some kind of understanding between the two. If they were going to both survive these three months and come out sane, the best thing she could do was to find some mutual ground. 

"How do you really feel about your mother's death?"

Draco raised his eyebrows, slightly surprised by her courage to ask such a question. But nonetheless, his calm and collected manner didn't seem deterred in anyway. "Truth be told, I feel some pity for her. She didn't deserve to die like that; even I believe it was harsh. Other than that I feel remorse, for she was my mother and what kind of son would I be if I didn't?"

"You'd be a Malfoy."

He considered this, nodding slightly. "Yes, I guess so." 

Hermione silently wished she had the quill in her hand once more, so she would have something to do other than stare back at the man in front of her. His cool and guarded gaze, fueled by an unreadable and self-content demeanor only seemed to add to the chilling atmosphere Azkaban possessed. That he also possessed. 

"My turn. What exactly do you do at the Ministry?" he asked. 

"Well, if I were to be honest, I'm in training to become an Auror," Hermione said plainly.

Draco's lips curled and he lazily leant his chin on his folded arms, watching her flinch slightly as he leant in closer. Hermione gripped the side of her chair, hoping to give herself something to do other than rummage for her wand, which was tucked away somewhere inside her mass of robes. 

He didn't seem surprised at all though. As a matter of fact, he seemed to have been expecting the answer as he sighed deeply and said, "Well, we all make mistakes."

"You may consider it a mistake, I consider it a wise career move."

"Why? Because if you have the scores, let them be used to aid the ever existent war of the worlds?"

"Yes, and because there are things worth fighting for," she began. "Though of course, you wouldn't understand that." 

"Contrary to popular belief, I'm not the cruel heartless bastard you presume me to be," he muttered, indignantly.

"Oh right, you're the saint in wolf's clothing. I see that now," said Hermione, sarcasm dripping from her words. She almost went as far to roll her eyes, but restrained herself, noting the displeased look on Draco's face. 

"If memory serves me correctly, _angel_," breathed Draco, "there was a time when you claimed all you ever yearned for was to be near me, to feel me, to hear me whisper your name into your hair as you fell asleep-"

"That was a long time ago," she choked, but he shook his head.

"Not that long," he insisted, his voice almost a soft growl. "Don't tell me you don't remember the days, where you would lay in my arms and tell me every little detail of your life. Where you would cry and reveal to me all the little secrets that you never dreamed Potter or Weasley would be able to understand."

"Those days are gone," she said sternly, but he slammed his fist down onto the table. 

"Don't tell me they're gone Hermione, because I'm not so stupid as to believe that! Tell me, why did you come back here? Why did you not leave and not give this place a second glance, when I gave you an able opportunity to do so?"

Hermione blinked, shocked at Draco's daring to delve so fast into these matters. What had happened to change his mind? Why had he been so cooperative all of a sudden? And why was he dismissing that collected attitude?

"I came back here because I have a job to do Draco! If I don't finish interviewing you, I won't be able to graduate as an Auror. You see, you don't know me as well as you think you do, because I always finish what I begin and this case is no exception!"

"You finish what you begin?" he sneered. "You lie, my angel. You lie, even to yourself."

And having endured enough emotional torture for one day; Hermione abruptly stood up and knocked on the door, her back to Draco as she waited impatiently for a guard to arrive. She could feel his cold gray eyes on her back and she suppressed a shudder, which only made a satisfied smirk claim his mouth. 

"It finished a long time ago Draco. I've moved on, it's not my fault if you dwell on the past. The truth is that you are trying to blame me for your actions. But you can go ahead and try, because I'm not about to take the blame for your own cowardice."

Draco stood up, knocking his chair down behind him and as quickly as he had done so; he was standing in front of Hermione. His eyes were cold and deep, his expression was unmoving as he gritted his teeth and clenched his fist. She knocked harder and faster on the door, calling for the guard before hurriedly searching with one hand through her robes for her wand. 

"It was hardly cowardice," he hissed, gripping a hold of her free wrist and slamming it against the door. Hermione winced slightly, her hand suddenly jolting with pain before she turned to face him, a look of deep contempt on her face. "It was for you!"

"You did it for yourself!" she barked. "You did it all for yourself!"

And suddenly, the door flew open, sending them both tumbling to the ground. A tall, sandy haired man was standing at the entrance, his wand was pointed directly at Draco as he helped Hermione to her feet. 

"Are you OK, Miss?" he asked, scowling at the prisoner. Hermione nodded, glancing back at Draco who was sitting on the dusty stone floor glaring right back at the Auror. 

"I'm fine," she said, just above a whisper. 

She snatched up her handbag, avoiding any further eye contact with Draco before hurrying out of the room and into the long white corridor. She could hear the guard muttering nasty things at the prisoner as the door closed behind her. The other Aurors who had been guarding other rooms in the hallway glanced curiously at her ruffled and unruly appearance, but turned away as she stormed out of the building and ran outside. 

She ran until she reached the sandy part of the island, where she stood there in the sun attempting to hold back tears, which she felt had been long forgotten. Her insides seemed to be caving in and her body soon gave out. Hermione soon found herself kneeling in the wet sand, her body wracking with invisible sobs before she took a deep breath to calm herself. 

She had let him get to her. She had played right into his little trap and allowed him to get the better of her. How could she have been so stupid? This had all happened before. He always knew which buttons to press; he had always known how to hurt her…

__

~FLASHBACK~

"Tell me, what do you expect me to do, Hermione?" Draco bellowed, stalking across the room and glaring at the young girl. "He's family. Do you expect me to just turn away from him?"

__

"I expect nothing from you except to do what's right!"

Hermione bit her lip as the scowl on his face grew deeper. 

"Since when the hell do I have to do what's right? I'm not some Gryffindor!"

She grabbed a hold of his hand as he made to turn away. "No, but you're someone who knows right from wrong. How do you know that this is just not some trap? That if you go to your father, he won't just attempt to turn you over to Voldemort's side?"

"Do you really consider me to be that stupid?" he hissed. "My father knows I'm not joining with Voldemort and as much as he wants me to, he also knows that I'm not easily swayed. I've made my decision. I promised you and if you really think so lowly of me that I'll just leave you, then I don't know why you fucking bother!"

"I don't think that at all, and don't turn this situation on me!" she ordered, fury sparking in her eyes. "I'm trying to protect you Draco!"

"I don't need you to protect me!"

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~END FLASHBACK~

A few minutes passed and she soon felt herself calming down. Standing, she decided that the outskirts of Azkaban Island were not the place to have a mental breakdown, so she slung her bag over her shoulder and apparated back to her solitary flat. No one would be home at this time of day and that's what upset her even more. 

**

~*~*~*~

**

The day drew on, though Harry was oblivious to the world outside of Grimmauld Place. He sat around the large map-laden table inside Sirius' old Estate, his eyes scanning maps upon maps and skimming through different books. There had been many sightings of deatheaters all across England: most of which had bared curses he was unfamiliar with. 

"Hey Harry," called Tonks, strolling into the spacious kitchen and sitting down opposite of him. Lupin followed soon after, giving Harry a slight nod as greeting. Both of them had been collecting information in York that day and had tiredly returned as the sun began to set. 

Harry smiled at them both, before burying himself in the maps once more. Remus observed him from across the room, his brown eyes filled with concern. Tonks must have realized why as she suddenly pulled a large map out from under the young man's nose. Harry grunted in protest, making to pull it back but she threw it to Remus (missing the target of course). 

"Go home Harry, you've not slept in days," she said gently. 

Harry shook his head. "I'm fine, really. And I did have a nice little nap yesterday afternoon, but I am rather busy right now."

He readjusted his glasses, rubbing the bags under his eyes absentmindedly. True, it had been quite awhile since he'd had a good night's rest but there was so much to do and he doubted any of it could get done if he were dozing off. Voldemort had been active as of late and if there were any chance of Harry catching up with him or avoiding another incident, he needed to have his wits about him. 

"This can wait until tomorrow Harry. These maps aren't going anywhere and there's nothing you can do right now that will change anything," Lupin insisted. "You're married, go spend some time with your wife and get some rest."

Glancing down at his watch, Harry realized that it was already ten to eleven. He wondered whether it was day or night, but the fact that Tonks was openly suppressing a yawn answered his question. He sighed, removing his glasses and cleaning them with the bottom of his jumper before standing up and shoving the other maps on the table into a messy bundle.

"You're probably right," he muttered. "I just hope Hermione'll understand why I haven't been home for so long."

"She'll understand, she knows that you've been busy. Mind you, so has she. She checked into Azkaban at around five this morning," Tonks mumbled, leaning back in her chair. Harry wasn't a bit surprised though. It wasn't uncommon for Hermione to take her job seriously. 

"Very well then, I'll be off I guess," Harry yawned, muffling a good-bye with his hand. 

"Rest well Harry," said Lupin, giving him a slight wave as he sat down at the large wooden table.

Harry grinned at them both, before pulling on his large black cloak and heading out the front door. He closed it behind him firmly, which was hard considering it had no doorknob and he turned away from the building. Heading down the street, he came to a dark, foreboding alleyway, where he promptly checked that no one was looking, before he apparated home.

**

~*~*~*~  


**

Hermione had become accustomed to Harry not coming home and hadn't bothered to fix him any dinner, but he did manage to piece together a sandwich before heading upstairs, showering and sliding under the covers of their large four poster bed. Hermione was sleeping sounding, her long brown hair framed her face and he brushed a few strands out of her eyes. She opened her eyes upon feeling his fingers brush her cold skin.

"Welcome home," she yawned. 

Harry kissed her forehead, almost apologetically. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be gone so long."

"It's OK," she said drowsily, forcing a small smile. "You should have owled, I'd have made you something to eat."

"No no, it's fine. How have you been anyway? Tonks has been telling me you've been working a bit hard as of late," he asked, his fingers tracing along her jaw lovingly. Hermione bit her lip, forcing her smile to stay in place before she scooted over and leant her head on Harry's chest. In the dead of the night, she could hear his heart beating and the warmth of his body caused her to almost shudder. 

She felt so cold. 

"I'm good. I'm just working on this prisoner at Azkaban at the moment, it's a long story."

Harry nodded, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head. 

"Who's the prisoner?" he asked. Hermione wasn't sure whether she should answer him, but she found herself unable to speak any other words. 

"Draco Malfoy," she whispered exhaustedly. 

She could hear Harry asking another question, but she couldn't bring herself to listen. She was too tired and too confused to answer anything else. She closed her eyes, feeling sleep come to capture her as Harry's voice faded out and all that was left was darkness. 

****

~ENDCHAPTER2~

**A/N -** Much thanks to all my lovely reviewers: fcuking cathy, Lita, bluebell-uk, favik, Culf, ILUVRONWEASLEY, hpdancer92, Katie, Relena Potter and the forever lovely Rose AquaFire!  
  
To _Culf_, I only have one thing to say. Yes, I do ship Sirius/Bellatrix (to readers, **no, this story isn't about Sirius/Bella**) and yes, it is incestous. But it's my choice and there are people who do alot worser (or what people consider worser) than cousin/cousin ships (like twincest etc.). Thanks for your review though. 


	3. Chapter Three: Unamused

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape or form. No copyright or trademark infringement is intended. 

_Chapter Three: Unamused_

Hermione awoke to the sun streaming into her eyes. The curtains surrounding the large window which adorned her bedroom had been thrown open and she rolled over, squeezing her eyes closed and hoping to gain a few more minutes of sleep. But there was no such luck of course, as Hermione realized that a person had opened the curtains and he soon came wandering back into the room. 

"Harry, what are you doing up so early?" she asked, after glancing over the clock on her bedside. It was only a little past six. He smiled at her and pulled on a black cloak over his muggle clothing of old denim jeans and a dark green jumper, before placing his cup of coffee on her bedside table and kissing her forehead. The fringe of his scruffy black hair was so long that it balanced itself on the rims of his glasses and Hermione made a mental note to have him get it trimmed to next time he was free -- whenever that would be.

"I've received an owl from Dumbledore, he's called a meeting with the Order. You and Ron don't have to attend, but he wants me there to make sure I'm informed on everything."

Hermione nodded slowly. Even though she and Ron had their own jobs, they were part of the Order per-say. Her own training as an Auror was in part to prepare herself for anything she might face, though she liked working for the Ministry as someone had to pay the bills and Harry's small fortune would not last forever. Ron, however, just seemed to want to know the details of whatever happened. That boy had never taken kindly to being kept in the dark and as soon as he had become of age, he had insisted on joining the Order. 

"You're not upset are you?" asked Harry, concern in his eyes. "I know it's been awhile since we've spent time together, but things have been rather busy lately."

"It's fine, really it is. There's a lot going on for both of us at the moment," she insisted.

"True, and Voldemort does seem to be a bit more active lately. Something's coming Hermione, I can feel it…"

Harry trailed off; as if caught up in his own thoughts and she couldn't help but sigh. This was Harry all right, forever the gallant hero, dedicated to his work. The lost look in his eyes only caused Hermione's attitude to plummet slightly, for she couldn't help but worry about him. He had been spending day after day shut up in Grimmauld Place and she wondered for a moment, whether he was still mourning over the loss of Sirius. 

Harry had never truly gotten over the death of his godfather, though to the public eye he had seemed to recover fairly well. Only those close to him knew how much he still hurt whenever Sirius was so much as mentioned and in Hermione's opinion, the loss of Sirius had been a more hurtful experience than the loss of his parents. He had never known his parents and had never so much as spoken to them. Sirius had been the only real family Harry had ever had -- even if they weren't related by blood.

"How long do you have before the meeting?" she asked, bringing Harry's senses back down to earth. 

"It's at seven, I thought I may as well get a head start on some other research I had been working on," he muttered absentmindedly. Hermione mused on how the times had changed, but only for a moment before Harry leant in and tenderly kissed her, smiling feverishly after he did so. He was still that naïve boy from Hogwarts; that much was certain. "We have some time to talk though, so tell me. How goes interviewing ferret boy?"

"He makes it a bit difficult at times. He's very stubborn."

"Same old Malfoy I see," muttered Harry, shrugging. "Has he spilt anything as of yet?"

She shook her head mournfully; knowing what Harry was getting at. The dark glint in his eye spoke volumes more than his expressionless tone. 

"He's not admitting to anything."

An eerie silence crept into the room, causing both occupants to just sit and stand, staring off into oblivion. Harry fumbled with the buttons on his cloak, before Hermione stood up, reached over and began doing them up for him. 

"Ron wants to kill him," Harry mumbled. "He was telling me just the other day that if Malfoy weren't locked up in Azkaban, he probably would have armed himself to the teeth and gone after him."

"I don't blame him," she said softly, not meeting her husband's eyes. Harry however took this as a sign of worry and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her closer to his body. Hermione leant her head against his chest, the soft silky fabric of his cloak warming her slightly. He placed his chin on top of her head, whispering into her hair. 

"If Malfoy had taken you away from me, I'd do the same. I know how much it hurts, to lose someone you're so close to. But if he were to ever hurt you… or do to you what he did to Ginny…"

"Hush," she whispered, placing a finger on his lips. Her dark brown eyes were soft with compassion and understanding. "Don't dwell on the bad things in life. Ginny was a wonderful person and she didn't deserve the fate she was dealt. We all hated Malfoy, but none of us could have been prepared for what came. Don't blame yourself…"

"I'm not blaming myself," Harry insisted. "I didn't commit his crimes."

Hermione pulled away from him, sat herself down on the end of their bed and hugged her knees. Inside of her, she could feel a large hole forming and her deepest, darkest fears and feelings crawled through. But she dared not voice them. Not to him, these secrets she tried so hard to keep to herself. 

"Do you blame yourself, Hermione?" he asked, causing her to almost topple over in surprise. His face bore no sign of motive or reason for asking, other than his general curiosity at the fact that she was refraining herself from him. 

"Of course not," she muttered airily. "Why would I?"

~*~*~*~

Hermione chose to spend the rest of her day at her flat, unsure whether she would continue interviewing Draco at all after their encounter. Her conversation with Harry had done nothing but biased her judgment, as memories seemed to be the prime offer of the day to dwell on. She took to reading in the morning, before heading out to Diagon Alley to busy herself with shopping for household items, before returning home and giving the old flat a good magical scrub down. 

But by the time the sun had set and an owl had come from Harry stating the Order needed him for some odd reason or another, she made up her mind that she would not be spending another evening at home alone. She didn't bother to take her bag with her this time and instead, she tucked her wand into her robes and apparated to the island Azkaban was situated on. 

The sky above her was filled with even darker and murkier clouds and the foreboding; enormous ex-castle that Azkaban now was chilled her. She pondered her decision to arrive after sunset, which meant the prisoners would be confined to their cells rather than permitted into the interview rooms. But nonetheless, she headed inside the old castle, bidding good evening to the Auror at the desk in the front room, who checked her in. 

Another guard was enlisted to take Hermione through a dark, stone corridor; which would lead her down to the prisoner cellblock. The guard was a well-built, raven-haired man who wasn't one for conversation. After a few minutes, they arrived in a long dingy hallway: on either side were large rooms featuring prisoners who glared at her from behind the bars. She even recognized one or two of them from Daily Prophet articles, which had reported their captures. 

Finally, they neared the last room, which was facing opposite an empty cell. Lying on the worn and barely there bed was Draco. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be sleeping serenely, before the guard gave the bars a sharp tap with his wand. The silver haired man bolted up, before turning and glaring at the guard. He then realized that Hermione was eyeing him curiously and he stood up.

"Face the wall," the Auror said tightly and Draco raised his arms above his head, turning towards the gritty and mildew infested wall. 

"I'll have to ask for your wand," he murmured to Hermione. "They're not allowed inside prisoner's cells."

Hesitantly obliging, she handed the tall man her wand and he tapped the cell bars with it, muttering a curse Hermione wasn't familiar with. The bars sprung apart, giving her enough room to step inside before they closed behind her. 

"No funny business Malfoy," he ordered and Draco turned around, muttering something under his breath. 

"I'll be down the corridor if you need me, Miss."

And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared from view. Hermione could hear the tapping of his dragonhide boots on the stone floor slowly echo themselves into nothingness, before she turned to Draco. He was still standing next to the wall, his arms were crossed and he seemed to be more annoyed than glad of her presence in his precious and confined space. 

"You've surprised me," he said plainly, not moving a muscle. "I thought I had ridden myself of you yesterday."

"I'm too persistent to let you win," she muttered, hoping that her nervous exterior had stayed back home. Draco, however, didn't seem fooled, but he was far too pompous to be so obvious. 

"Too true, too true," he commented. "So, you're here to conduct business as usual, I suppose?"

She nodded. "Why else would I be here?"

Hermione instantly regretted her words. He raised his eyebrows and sat down next to her -- much too close than she would have preferred. Never the less she kept her stance, determined this time not to have either of them begging to leave. With god as her witness, she was going to have a proper interview with this man if it killed her. 

"So, whose turn is it to ask a question?"

"No ones, we're not playing the questions game anymore."

"Really?" he asked, disappointed. "Then what game are we playing?"

"We're playing Auror and Deatheater. I'll be the Auror; you'll be the deatheater. Sound suited enough? I'll be interviewing you, you'll answer my questions."

"And if I don't want to play?" Draco asked sweetly. 

"Then I'm going to go find someone else who will."

"Like you did with Potter?" he shot, instantly causing her to stop glaring at him. Amused by her reaction, he could almost see the heat rising to her face as she sat taken aback by his audacity. 

"I'm not here to reminisce with you, Draco," she said plainly. It was Draco's turn to roll his eyes as Hermione's expression hardened. She was closing herself off. She was preparing herself for this. He knew that, he could sense it. It didn't matter though, because he needed her to know it, to sense it, to feel it.

"Tell me, why don't you want to reminisce?" 

"Many bad memories," she muttered darkly, but he shook his head. 

"Little Miss Liar comes out to play," he said tauntingly. "Did you _ever_ end up telling Potter about us? Or was that just an idle 'threat'?" 

"I'm not playing your game, Draco."

"I'll take that as a no," he muttered surely. She clenched her hands into fists. He was so damned annoying at times and he knew it. He reveled in it and he prided himself in it. Hermione felt the sudden urge to slap him, but she knew that he was trying to get her mad. He was pushing his limits and seeing how fast she would crack. 

"Why do you hate me so fucking much?" she blurted out, her frustration clear within her words. She had surprised even herself by asking him this, but nothing could prepare her for the look of almost shock on his face. 

"Hate you?" he asked plainly. "Since when have I claimed to 'hate you'?"

"Oh, let's see. There were years upon years at school, though of course that's because of your biased family beliefs-"

"If memory serves me correctly, we sorted through those… for a time," he said calmly, cutting in. But Hermione wasn't finished.

"-Then of course, there was the last few months of school. And then there's now. Now of all times Draco! Why the hell are you making this difficult?"

"Why the hell shouldn't I?" he snapped at her. A dangerous spark was beginning to ignite in his eyes, which she was fully aware of. But she had endured enough of his attitude and his mood swings. 

"Because," she began, hoping for some kind of answer. 

"Just because?" he asked. "For fuck sake Hermione, what kind of answer is that?"

"You know that I don't want to be here Draco, yet you make it your mission to ruin whatever career I may have in the future as an Auror. You stress me beyond belief! You ruin me! You refuse to compromise and you refuse to just listen to me!" she bellowed, suddenly feeling close to tears. 

She bit her lip, turning away from him as she stood up and headed towards the cell bars. She entertained the thought of calling for a guard and escaping the wizarding prison once and for all. But things were too important now and she couldn't waste all she had accomplished merely because Draco refused to cooperate. 

"And you think you have no effect on me?" he asked plainly. The cell had suddenly gone a few degrees colder and every word he said cut into her. She glanced over her shoulder at him, noting his serious expression and determined eyes. Standing up, he slowly walked over to her until he was standing but a step away from her. 

"Do you really think that you can just waltz in here and act the victim, when you're the one killing me? You say I ruin you, well you've already ruined me. You say I refuse to compromise, I did once and look what happened. You say I refuse to listen, but _you're_ not even registering the words you're saying."

"You made your choice, Draco," she said softly, a tinge of fear sparking in her as she felt his cold breath on her face and saw the dark glint in his eye.

"You made the choice for me," Draco corrected. "You chose to ruin everything and then to add to it all, you went off and decided you'd rather spend the rest of your life fucking Potter than salvage whatever was left."

And then he removed the space between them, his body now brushing against hers, as he looked her straight in the eye. She almost shuddered, blinking back tears as he continued his torment. And she summoned all her courage, looking him in the eye sharply, willing her tears not to fall before hissing under her breath, "There was _nothing_ left." 

He raised an eyebrow cockily, his face leaning in so close she felt his lips brush hers, before she whispered for him to stop. But he ignored her protests and ignored the little voice in the back of his head that was telling him that this was wrong and that he should have left things as they had been. It could be so much easier to hate someone… but Hermione was never someone. Not to him at least. 

"Stop," she whispered, placing her hands on his chest. But she didn't push him away, instead she balanced herself against him, his lips once again brushing hers softly but never leaning in to kiss her. It was a silent torture for him, for her - for them both. And then as quickly as Draco had stood, he backed away, leaving a clearly flustered Hermione staring back at him shocked, as he sneered cunningly as he observed her, standing a few steps away. 

"There will always be something left," breathed Draco. "No matter how much you deny it and no matter how many times you give yourself to Potter so you can feel some redemption for your actions, there will always be something left." 

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to ignore the grim reality that was seizing her. Draco was right. He knew her so much better than she had thought. They had despised each other during their first five years at Hogwarts, always trying to counteract each other. Always trying to prove themselves better than each other. 

How on earth had they let it get this far? This couldn't be the current reality. Years later, after they had graduated from the prestigious school, she couldn't allow him to have so much control of her mind – and her body.

"You're wrong," she whispered, causing him to scowl.

"About which part, _angel_?"

Hermione took a deep breath, steadying herself and hoping to drive some much needed Gryffindor courage into her system. 

"I love Harry," she whispered. And to her surprise, a look of amusement captured Draco's pale and pointed face. He seemed to be on the brink of laughter and she couldn't help but wonder what was so amusing. Nervously, she reached up with one hand and wrapped her fingers around the bars that guarded the cell. She steadied herself, not liking at all, the direction this conversation was going. Something sparked within Draco and the malevolent glint in his eye made her shudder.

"You love Potter?" he asked, thought he said it as more of a statement. "Then why are you here? Why aren't you and the boy-who-triumphed curled up in front of a roaring fire discussing your day plan?"

And for once in her life, Hermione was lost for words. Why had she chosen to come to the prison instead of Grimmauld Place, to be with her husband? Why was she allowing him to play his little mind games with her, when she knew better? 

"Here's a news flash for you," he muttered, glaring at her. "Love isn't brains darling, it's blood. Blood screaming inside you to work its will. I may have been love's bitch at some point or another, but at least I'm man enough to admit it."

"And you think I love you?" she scoffed half-heartedly. 

"No, I don't think you love me," he whispered. "I know you love me. That some part of you never stopped and that some part of you will always consider me to be the one who understood you."

"You're so full of it," choked Hermione in disgust, but Draco was unphased. 

"I never said I loved you in return."

Hermione wasn't sure what to say. Some part of her secretly wished to protest, to proclaim that he wouldn't have come this far with her if he didn't. But her better judgment and her bruised ego stood in her way and instead, she stood there, expressionless as her observed her with a satisfied smirk plastered all over his face. But she couldn't let it end like this. She couldn't let him chase her out of her job. 

"I came here because I was required to, Draco," she murmured to the silent cell. "And I'm not going to let you stop me from excelling."

"Is this the part where you announce you'll use Veritaserum on me?"

"No," she said. "This is the part where I tell you that I'll see you tomorrow morning. This is the part where I tell you that you either cooperate or we get nowhere. This is the part where I remind you that if you don't complete these interviews; it's your head on the chopping block, as well as mine. And this is the part where I drill it into your thick skull: I'm content with my life, so stop trying to become a part of it again!"

Hermione raised her chin defiantly, not caring for the unamused look Draco was sporting, before she called for the guard. He arrived a few seconds later, instructing Draco to turn and face the wall, before he charmed the bars to allow Hermione out. She retrieved her wand and strode confidently down the corridor; oblivious to the prisoners on either side who were glaring and sneering at her. 

~ENDCHAPTER3~

Authors Note: Please review and let me know what you think! Much thanks go out to all the reviewers of my last chapter.  
  
**Citations:** The line "Love isn't brains darling, it's blood. Blood screaming inside you to work its will. I may have been love's bitch at some point or another, but at least I'm man enough to admit it" is taken from a line on Buffy, episode 42 **Lovers Walk**:   
_ Love isn't brains, children, it's blood... blood screaming inside you to work its will. *I* may be love's bitch, but at least *I'm* man enough to admit it._   
  
**In the next chapter:** Plans are being made between friends, Draco's angsting slightly and Hermione reminices with... herself. 


	4. Chapter Four: Broken

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter in any way, shape or form. No copyright infringement is intended.

  
Authors Note: I believe apologies are in order to you all for the delay in this chapter. I can make no real excuse except for lack of time and perhaps even dedication, and you are therefore free to throw pointy objects at me. Much thanks to all previous reviewers - I hope you enjoy this chapter :) Also, if you'd like to be informed whenever a new chapter of Unforgiveable Sinner is released, there's a link to its notify list in my profile.  
  


**Chapter Four: Broken**

Darkness; it was all Draco could see as he lay on his dirty old bed. The mattress was so thin, he could feel the bed frame underneath. But he didn't care. Sleep was the last thing he planned to do that night. His arms were folded behind his head, a substitute for the musty old pillow he refused to use. Sighing deeply, he watched his breath conform into white clouds of smoke as they evaporated into the chilling night air. 

It had been one day. One day since Hermione Granger had returned, determined to make her interviews with him profitable. The night before, her performance of the strong and content housewife had been transparent for one such as Draco, who knew her inside and out. When she had arrived that morning, she seemed to expect to him to care about her exclamation that she and Potter were happy together. 

But he knew the truth; he could see it in her eyes as she asked him more and more questions._ 'How long were you in Voldemort's service?', 'What kind of tasks did you perform for him?', 'Are you guilty?' _were the ones she focused on the most, but he refused to give her a straight answer. She didn't deserve a straight answer, Draco told himself. She didn't deserve to know the truth, because after all, she had already made up her mind.

But they were speaking and for once, one of them had not ordered for a guard to come before the interview was complete. She had stayed only an hour, refusing to answer any questions about Harry or Ron in fear that Draco might start up his little game of show and tell again. But he could see the confusion and fear in her eyes; she didn't know why she was still there, or even why she was bothering to make an effort.

That satisfied Draco a little, though not much. Turning over in his bed, he faced the mildew ridden and dirty old stone wall, envisioning Hermione's face – and lips – from one night ago when she had stood in this very cell. He had surprised even himself by allowing himself the pleasure of scaring her with his touch – for touching her was one thing he had vowed to never do again. 

She had thrown it all away, or at least that was how he had seen it. For years now he had hated her and the memories she had bequeathed to him. Their years at Hogwarts - the last two to be precise - had changed his life dramatically. Perhaps if he and Hermione were never to have started a relationship to begin with, he wouldn't be lying here in this cell contemplating a death sentence. 

Did blame her? Yes. But did he hate her? Some part of him willed so hard that he could turn her away, that he could inflict unspeakable tortures on her and that he could finally let go of the last shred of humanity he possessed. But he couldn't hate her. No, never again could he truly hate her. There are some people in the world who are impossible to let go off and as he lay there, simpering in the darkness; he realized that she was the one true person who had never let him go. 

***

Life didn't end that night for Hermione, but rather it removed a few of the misconceptions both she and her interviewee had about one another. And so a month went by, with peace of some sort between the two. His calmer demeanor nowadays unwittingly aided her in their sessions and in a way, allowed her to continue on with her life away from Azkaban.

To some extent at least.

***

"I'm really sorry, Ron, but I can't stay," Hermione muttered as she pulled her long brown hair up into a ponytail and clipped it tightly. Ron's expression faltered slightly and he sighed, leaning his Nimbus Two Thousand up against the wall. 

"Then come for dinner," insisted Luna. She was flipping through the pages of the latest edition of The Quibbler. After graduating, she had taken up a position at her father's magazine as a coeditor, but her job was never one to get in the way of watching one of Ron's games. 

The Chudley Canons had just beaten the Wimbourne Wasps at another game and were well on their way to another World Cup if they kept at this rate. Ron was rather excited and his crestfallen expression only broke Hermione's heart into pieces as she grinned at him apologetically. 

"Dinner would be great," she said, throwing her bag over her shoulder. "I'm busy tomorrow, but how does the night after sound?"

"It sounds fine to me," Ron shrugged. "But will it work for Harry?"

He gave Hermione a curious look, but she ignored his gaze, suddenly interested in the front cover of Luna's magazine. "You'll have to ask him yourself."

"You and Harry aren't having…er...problems?"

"Of course not," she muttered, waving her hand around airily. "He's just been rather busy lately. As have I."

"Oh yes," said Luna. "You're still interviewing those Death Eaters."

A rather dark look passed over Ron's face as he scowled at the mention of Hermione's job. It was no surprise really, since he had been acting this way ever since he found out Hermione would be interviewing Draco. Still, one month on and he persisted in his usual routine of muttering insults under his breath and scowling invisible holes into the Quidditch Pitch. 

"You really should take some time off," he said, trying to make it sound as nonchalant as possible. However, she knew better; she was used to this charade he put up, trying his best to suppress the disgust he held. "You should spend some more time with Harry. We rarely see you two together these days."

"I have a deadline, Ron, there's so much more I have to do. If Harry wants to spend time with me, then he can stop quadruple checking maps that never change."

Ron and Luna shot each other nervous glances; they knew Hermione's snappy tone was usually reserved for her moments of great frustration or unease. But neither of them dared to say anything about it. Hermione announced she had to leave, and as she Apparated to the all too familiar fortress of Azkaban, they bid her farewell and reminded her not to be late for dinner.

***

"Good afternoon," Draco murmured, leaning back in his aluminum chair, bored. Hermione shot him a small smile before seating herself. As soon as she had, she threw her arms onto the table and slammed her forehead down. Draco raised his eyebrows at the loud thud she made as he picked at his fingernails uninterestedly. 

"Bad day?" 

"You could say that."

She stood up and began pacing back and forth across the length of the room slowly. Her black shoes tapped loudly with every step she took, making Draco's concentration on his fingernails less apprehensive. 

"What questions do you have for me today?" he asked after a few minutes. He was growing rather impatient with her less-than-attentive mood. Usually when she came into the room, she was all geared up and focused all her attention on him, something he secretly enjoyed. Unfortunately, it seemed the novelty had worn off. 

Hermione pursed her lips. "If I ask you questions, I never seem to get an answer," she answered rationally.

"Oh hush," he drawled. "You get some kind of answer, it's just not always the type you're looking for."

"If I were looking for answers which led me in circles, I'd have gone to Sybill Trelawney."

"Yes, well she's not a Death Eater, is she?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, absentmindedly massaging the back of her neck with her hand as she slumped herself back down into her seat. She reached into her bag and extracted a large manila envelope. Tossing it lazily onto the table, she was sure Draco noticed the dark black letters bearing his name.

"Your case file," she began, hoping to see some kind of reaction in his casual and unimpressed face. "In the past month, my superiors have noticed that nothing has been added into it."

"Your point being?" he asked coolly.

"My point, Draco," she grumbled, "is that in one month's time I've learned absolutely nothing from you."

"And you're telling me this because?"

Draco was smirking in a satisfied manner, whereas Hermione looked so exhausted she didn't even have the strength to look as if she'd slap him -- which was what she felt she just might do if things kept progressing as they were. Groaning inwardly, she forced herself to look him in the eye. The boy across the room seemed the very image of an angel; his few frown lines and the darkness that loomed in his eyes remained the only traits that could ever give him away. His frame was that of someone his age – a thin, twenty-year-old man that had obviously not had enough space to move about or exercise in general. 

She wondered for a moment how his body could transform from the lean one she remembered; one toned and mastered from his years as a Seeker. His silver-blonde hair, unruly and untamed, was very uncharacteristic for someone of his sort, and fell into his deep gray eyes every time he inclined his head. His robes, though old and prison standard, were tattered and rugged, but not in incredibly bad condition. In fact, compared to some of the other prisoners Hermione had seen that night a month ago, Draco looked downright decent. 

"Why aren't you answering me Draco?" she asked. Very slowly her strict and exhausted demeanor was slipping away. Sitting there, in the cold room with no one but him, the silence was eerily calming. His eyes though hard and at times ruthless, were amazingly serene for someone of his nature. 

"It is no use answering someone when they've already made up their mind," he said plainly, surprising Hermione. 

"Who said I've made up my mind?" she questioned curiously. 

"Yet another question," he snapped, his tone deepening and his eyes bearing the warning signs of anger. He was obviously not the least bit concerned with her growing curiosity. 

"I thought you wanted questions."

"What I want is for you to get on with the interview!"

"Fine!" Hermione spat. "How long did you serve Lord Voldemort?"

"Three years!" he growled, his fingers tightening on the edge of the table. His knuckles were going white from his grip, which was intensifying by the second. He didn't even begin to consider the fact that she had unknowingly gotten him riled up or that he was pissed off beyond belief that she was delving into questions he had refused to answer time and time again. "There, that's something for the sodding file!"

Hermione seemed extremely bewildered at the silent fury he was suppressing; though it was plain for her to see that he was far from his calm self. His eyes were darkening, he was scowling, and she blinked in even more vivid confusion. 

"Why on earth are you so angry, Draco?"

"Because you're so bloody blind sometimes," he scoffed loudly. 

"What are you getting at?"

"Oh, figure it out for yourself," he muttered, standing up and slowly walking over to the door. He knocked twice and waited a few minutes but no guard came to the door. 

"Where the bloody hell-"

"He's probably on a lunch break," Hermione broke in knowingly. 

"He's on a lunch break while you're in here interviewing me?" questioned Draco and she nodded slowly. "Well, why the hell isn't he guarding the door? What if I'd tried to attack you? I'm a criminal you know, I could have easily tackled you and stolen your wand!"

And then something unexpected happened. Hermione began to laugh. And it wasn't just a giggle or a low sort of dignified laugh, but rather a loud, deep, amused laugh. A look of surprise and embarrassment stole Draco as he stared at her from across the room. Her face began going red and she could feel tears building up in her eyes, so she kept them closed. 

Her chest became sore and after a minute or so, Draco wasn't sure whether she was laughing or sobbing. Her voice died down and she took a few gulps of precious oxygen to calm herself before biting her lip and calmly surveying him. Her face was red and burning; she was sure she'd just made a fool out of herself. But truth be told, she didn't care in the least. 

"What's so funny?" asked Draco, as silence returned to the room. 

"I'm not sure," said Hermione, raising a cold hand to her burning cheek in a hope of cooling it down faster. 

"Then why'd you laugh?"

"Because…Because I needed to," Hermione said after a moment's pause.

Draco slowly returned to his seat, his lanky limbs throwing themselves down lazily as the girl in front of him watched him cautiously. It was definitely one of the most peculiar sights he had seen in his entire life: Hermione Granger, the straight laced, serious and intelligent Gryffindor, laughing her head off in Azkaban. It was more than peculiar or odd – it was unnatural. 

"It's been a long time since I heard you laugh," he mumbled softly, his eyes focused on the table. Hermione relaxed a little; he wasn't in one of his violent paranoid moods today.

"It's been a long time since I've laughed at all," she said, almost mournfully. Draco looked up at her in surprise, but he was met with the smallest of plain smiles. It wasn't encouraging, nor was it antagonizing, but it did calm him somewhat. They sat there, staring at one another before Hermione cleared her throat and stood up. 

"I'd better be going," she insisted, returning Draco's case file to her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. She turned towards the door and took out her wand, but she turned back to face him for a moment. "Thank you for your help, Draco."

"Until next time," he said, a bit regally. 

"Indeed," she said to herself before turning around. Hermione tapped the door with her wand and muttered an incantation under her breath. Hearing a soft click, she made to turn the handle, before drawing back her hand. 

"I'm here to help you, Draco, even if it seems I have other intentions. All I want to know is what happened…"

"Curiosity killed the cat," he purred languidly. 

"Did curiosity also kill Ginny?" she asked daringly. Hermione turned to face him. Draco's cold gray eyes seemed to silently question her motives. She didn't have the courage to ask him the question to his face. She had surprised herself by even asking it then. She dreaded whatever answer she would get, for obviously no answer could appease her and set anyone's mind to rest. 

Draco frowned, his face suddenly quite serious. He took a moment to register the question, propping his elbow up on the table and resting his head neatly in his hand. "Do you really want me to answer that?"

She stood there in the silence, unshaken, before turning the handle and walking outside without answering him. She closed the door behind her, locking it with the same spell she had previously heard an Auror use before she silently made her way back to the front desk. 

Hermione was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn't even notice Moody waiting for her at the entrance, his magical eye fixed on her form as she neared him. He cleared his throat, causing her to shake off her previous thoughts and bring herself back down to earth. 

"Mr. Moody," she said, nodding her head in a welcoming gesture. 

"Miss Granger, how goes the interviewing process?" 

"As well as can be expected," she mumbled.

***

Another evening came and went. Night drew on and Harry had already owled her in the morning telling her he wouldn't be home. Hermione wondered just how many married witches stayed home on Friday nights, while their husbands were out fighting the impending evil and soon-to-be war of their world. Perhaps she was lucky. At least she wasn't married to a man who was an alcoholic or a competitive gambler. No, instead she'd chosen 'Mr. Perfect' as Parvati had once deemed him. 

'Oh how very wrong she had been,' Hermione mused.

Sighing, she decided to go searching in the old storage cupboard where she and Harry kept many of their old Hogwarts things. Harry hadn't wanted to return to the Dursleys' at all once he had graduated and even though he would be safe there with Aunt Petunia's protection, he had pledged to leave as soon as possible. 

It had only been a month after graduation that he popped the question to Hermione and a few weeks later, they had gotten married in a quiet little church just north of Hogsmeade. Ron had been Harry's best man; Ginny had been her maid of honor.

They had been so happy that day, neither unaware of the tragedy that struck soon after. Dumbledore had attended the ceremony, as had Professor McGonagall, Lupin, and an assortment of friends from Hogwarts. Hermione had extended an invitation to Tonks and Moody, who had just accepted her into the Auror Academy, but Moody had entertained fears about a spiked wedding cake and opted not to attend. 

Prowling through a box of old photographs, Hermione sat down in the large dusty cupboard and absentmindedly examined a number of them. Some were wedding photos; others were ones from Hogwarts that Colin Creevy had been so kind as to capture. She couldn't help but smile at the large grins Harry and Ron were sporting in almost all the photos (excluding of course, the ones where they were shaking their fists at Colin).

She soon stumbled upon the large picture from their graduation. It featured all the students in their year, all of whom were smiling proudly and holding up their diploma's, waving at her with excitement. She spotted herself and Harry, hugging tightly to the left of the photograph while Ron was trying to pry off Luna, who had run into the picture for some odd reason. 

Hermione laughed softly as the Harry in the picture winked at her, causing her miniature self to glare at him angrily. She remembered those moments, those oh-so precious moments, which seemed to have been so long ago. Then again, three years was a long time. 

She wondered what had happened to Parvati Patil or Lavender Brown or whether Dean Thomas had ever achieved his goal of becoming a football player. The only other person she had kept up to date with was Neville, and that was only because he was the current Herbology teacher and she visited him time to time when she had messages for Dumbledore. 

She ran her finger across the photograph, matching names with faces until her finger landed on one pale, pointed face. His gray eyes glared menacingly across the crowds of people and Hermione followed his gaze until it landed where she feared. She had never noticed it before, the almost savage look Draco had sported that afternoon. She didn't know how many times she had seen that picture, but it had never struck her as important. 

Now, after spending so much time with him in Azkaban, she realized just how a young man could bottle so much fury up inside of him. He hadn't changed at all. His scowl darkened in the photograph and Hermione tucked it away, not wanting to look at it anymore. She returned the box to one of the higher shelves and almost choked on a cloud of dust. Waving it away, she turned to leave before something caught her eye.

Sitting on the bottom shelf was her old school bag. Curiosity got the better of her and she reached over, pulling the old bag out of the closet. She closed the door behind her and made her way into the living room. Turning on one of the lamps and lighting the fireplace, she sat herself down and emptied the contents onto the coffee table.

Many books and quills came spilling out. Old, dust-ridden, yellowed pieces of parchment and ink pots clinked together before her bag sat empty next to her. Pawning through the familiar items, her eyes soon came to rest on an old and worn black book. Weary, but unable to stop herself, she pulled it to her, and gently opened it up to the first page. 

_Hermione,_

I know that all you ever crave for is what you don't know. Mysteries intrigue you, fantasies inspire you, magic motivates you, and love… Love is a mystery of its own. This is my gift to you, my angel. All you've ever wanted to know about magic is inside here and all I can ever hope is that you understand why it's a magic that has become so feared and so hated. 

This book is now yours and all I can ever hope is that you read and learn from it. I've made my choice; I've made it for you. I went one step too far, engaging in a relationship with you; no doubt my father knows I have. But I can't turn back now, not when I've had a taste of the only fruit that will ever be forbidden to me. 

Sincerely,  
Draco Malfoy

Hermione bit her lip, exhaustion, frustration, and confusion all capturing her body. She felt so tired and so weak. She lay down on the couch. The fireplace was lit, though it didn't warm her at all as she hugged the book to chest and rested her head gingerly on one of the cushions. The silent old house suddenly felt too large and utterly empty, and Hermione found she couldn't help but feel so cold, lifeless, and above all else, she felt alone. 

Draco had broken his promise to her. He had left her and joined the Dark Side. He had broken whatever trust she had in him and thrown it away the night Ginny's body had been found. And still, his innocent words played on her senses. He had been so sincere, yet not so different from how she knew him now. 

Could it be possible…? 

No, of course not. He was guilty. He had joined the Dark Side. But even to this day, he had never confessed, never admitted to the crimes he was being charged with. He hadn't even had his trial yet, for Dumbledore and Fudge had regretfully informed her that there wasn't much proof they could piece together. Fudge didn't seem to be looking for proof though, as he was sure Draco could be convicted either way. Dumbledore, however, had insisted they do things the respectable way, and so it had proceeded slowly.

Hermione wrung her fingers together nervously, not daring to reopen the book again before she sat up and stared across the room into the flickering fireplace. It seemed ridiculous to be contemplating the notion, for she had thought she had known the truth all along. But the feeling of unease inside of Hermione didn't subside. 

Perhaps some old spark, some old hope that yearned for him to be that bratty boy she had known so long ago, still resided within her. She would prefer a bratty Slytherin to a guilty Death Eater. Perhaps deep down inside she didn't want to believe that Draco Malfoy, the spawn of an inhuman and malicious bastard, had become the very specter of his father.

**~ENDCHAPTER4~**


End file.
